


Like a long stream, I'll bear all this echoing

by Drillbee_Automaton



Series: Collection of my fics based on discord rps [4]
Category: Original Work, We're Sorry AUs
Genre: Dissociation (referenced), F/F, drita owns my soul thank you and goodnight, this prompt was very fun to write for thank you asdklgfjds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drillbee_Automaton/pseuds/Drillbee_Automaton
Summary: Drita remembers the fog. The nothing that buzzed in her veins, the clouds that formed around her head, her feelings growing distant with it's embrace. She feels it still, sometimes. At the peripherals of her being. This is one of those times. (masquerade rp)
Relationships: Drita Bea | The Hanged Lady/Natalia Mironova | The Rusalka
Series: Collection of my fics based on discord rps [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984681
Kudos: 1





	Like a long stream, I'll bear all this echoing

Drita is sat on the plain stone bench, tracing the soft petals of a rose in her lap. It’s not from her. But she picked it, held it, gently pricked her thumbs on the thorns to keep herself aware, so she wants to call it hers. She stares into the water of their lake. Her lake. Their lake. She doesn’t know. She has trouble owning things. The breeze brushes through her hair, growing longer everyday, and the chill it brings she is thankful for. Chill means she’s still feeling.

Soft steps behind her now. Once, perhaps, she would’ve been afraid, but she knows the steps of her lovers. Natalia slides into place next to her, cold skin pressing against Drita’s own. Natalia reaches over, plucking a petal from Drita’s rose. The rose. Drita’s rose. She doesn’t know. Maybe it was Natalia’s all along and Drita was just playing pretend. 

She is brought out of her musings by Natalia gently placing the petal onto her nose. Drita merely blinks at it, before stutteringly moving up to bring it back down to the flower. Hers. No. Maybe it owns itself. Drita turns and looks up into Natalia’s eyes. She’s worried for her. Drita understands. She’s worried too. She’s. She’s worried too.

Tears bud inside of honey brown eyes, and Drita lets out a soft and shaking sob. She drops the flower as Natalia draws her into her strong embrace, pressing Drita’s face into her neck. She’s worried too. She’s worried too. 

“You always used to ask me, my dove, how I could love a monster. I’ve-” She draws a shaky breath and it’s cold, and it’s sharp, and it’s everything the fog was and wasn’t and Drita is so very scared. “My love, I’ve always wanted to ask a similar question. How could you love a husk? A dead woman walking, living in a state of fog and apathy and fear.” She trembles in Natalia’s arms, arms that don’t move, arms she knows loves her to her core, every inch and imperfection. 

She knows she is loved. Drita still just doesn’t quite know how. Natalia’s answer, it turns out, is very similar to her own.

“You are more than that trauma. You are my fierce starlight, звёздочка. The world could not take away your kindness, and heaven and hell knows it tried. I love you because you are you.”

Drita knows. Drita weeps all the same. (she was always her own. She was not a doll. And she no longer lived in fog, and it is all so beautiful and painful that she can do nothing but sob.)


End file.
